The Apologue of Daniel James
by Anne O'Brien
Summary: SLOW UPDATES. Danny goes searching in the attic for something to give Lancer for his heritage project, but when he finds a chest full of items from the 1800's -and most importantly, a journal belonging to man named Daniel James- Danny is sucked into a world full of deceit, love, treachery, and vampires. Danny is going to find out more about his family than he ever imagined.
1. Prologue: Discovery

Dust caked EVERTHING. Now normally, I could see, but no amount of ghostly abilities was going to help me in this one. I stood up in the attic of our house, coughing from the dirt and grime that my sudden movement kicked up.

"Danny, you gonna be alright up there?" Jazz calls to me from the hallway where the attic access ladder is. I walked over to it, and poked my head out over the edge of the hole in the ceiling. My hair falling down into my face, I smirked.

"I'll be fine, Jazz. Just looking for a few things."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," I shrugged my shoulders, and hopped back to my feet. Yet another mistake on my part. I had another coughing fit, and Jazz called to me again, asking if I'm_ sure _I'll be okay.

"It's just an attic, Jazz! I think I can handle it!" I told her, not even bothering to go over to the access hole.

Looking around, I noticed that the light coming from the hole didn't do any good, and I hadn't realized I'd need a flashlight. Well, Mom and Dad weren't home...and I don't think they would arm the attic with a ghost defense system...I made a small light in the palm of my hand and cringed, waiting for the distinct siren that would signify my imminent butt-whooping. None came, and sighed in relief.

"Okay...Let's get started, then, why don't we?" I mumbled. I looked and looked. For what? I have no idea, but I looked for something. Something interesting. Something I could use in this stupid heritage report I have to do for Lancer. After what seemed like hours of searching, I came upon an old chest, deep within the attic. I could only see the shaft off light coming from the hall way that indicated my entryway. I turned my attention back to the chest.

"I wonder...DJF. Those are my initials," I murmured, curious as to why there was a chest in my attic with my initials on it.

I saw that it had a lock, and I had no key. Other than a ecto-laser. I lasered it until it melted off, and pulled the chest open. Inside was a batch of strange items. The main item that caught my attention, though, was an axe. Long and stiff, it looked like it could take anything, and it had, I could tell. The end wasn't sharp, but it was covered in this shiny stuff that looked kind of like silver. I set the axe down next to me and looked through the rest of the stuff.

A few containers of a grainy shiny substance, and hundreds of tiny balls made of the same material that was on the edge of the axe. I was confused about why the owner had so much stuff made of this material, but I focused on other matters.

In the chest, under a bunch of cotton type material was a few guns. Like, _old _guns. From the Civil War era. Muskets and a bayonet, made of silver of course. There was a huge coat folded up in there with a hat on top. I pulled the hat out and it opened up into a top hat. A few knives and more silver items. But what really interested me was a worn leather notebook. It had to be at least a few hundred years old. It had the same initials, _my _initials on it: DJF. Upon opening it, I was greeted with a cloud of dust and yet another fit of coughing. But after that was the good stuff. I flipped through it. It was an old diary, with drawings and mostly writing in it. I'm no big reader, but I was compelled to see what was inside this journal.

Flipping to the very front of the book, I saw this: _This diary belongs to Daniel James Fenton, and no person outside of the Fentons may ever read it._

But I'm Daniel James Fenton. Okay, this was starting to creep me out, but I read on anyway. I mean, I am a Fenton, and this guy says no one outside of the Fentons may read it. I'm inside the Fentons.

_Written: April 9, 1865_

Woah! 1865?! Wasn't that, like, Civil War times? That would explain the musket and the other old-fashioned firearms.

_Hello, reader. Now I know you may be wondering what a man like me is doing making a journal of his experiences and such, but if you knew me personally, I think you would understand. I am not a normal man. I hunt things. Bad things._ _I've seen some terrible people do some terrible actions in my lifetime, and even though you probably don't want to know, I'm going to share them with you. Against your will. So deal with it. _

_Anyway, I guess there's nothing else for me to tell you except for the truth. _

_Prepare yourself._

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So there you go, the rewritten intro to The Apologue of Daniel James. I hope you (pretty much just you, maltese. XD) liked the addition of Danny into it, like he's investigating his heritage. But yeah.  
IMPORTANT: From here on out, all further chapters will have been rewritten chapters, and they will be completely different from the first three. There.**

**Enjoy!**

**-O'Brien**


	2. Worthwhile

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here we go with chapter two of the REWRITTEN version of The Apologue off Daniel James.**

* * *

I had just finished writing in my journal when I heard a loud knock at the door. It was a banging noise, a noise that no one likes to hear. I immediately became suspicious. Cautiously, I walked up to the door, because in my line of work you can't be too careful just walking around. I put my hand on the door, and started to open it, realizing that, in my hurry to open the door, I had forgotten my axe at my desk. Situated in my room, I didn't have the time to run and go get it, much less make the sound. So steeling myself for the surprise, I opened the door the rest of the way. And groaned.

"Tucker! You scared the shit outta me!"

"Sorry, Daniel, I didn't mean to, but I need your help," my best friend bumbled into my house, nearly falling over a couple times from having to carry all of the machines and contraptions that he always seemed to have with him. His chocolate skin was shiny with respiration.

Now, you may be thinking, "What is a white man doing with a black man?" Well I answer your question with a question. What do you have against black people? What are you? A slave-owner? Sick. Men, and women for that matter, aren't supposed to be put under forced labor. And not only that, but they were barely paid for it. Also, Tucker Foley is one of the most respected inventors in Amity, so go wallow in your pathetic entirety. **(That's my 1800's version of "Suck it." ;D) **

"With what, Foley, I'm kind of busy, if you hadn't noticed." I told the man, who had just dropped all of the machines in his arms on my wooden floor. Gears and other mechanical parts were rolling around under my furniture.

Foley looked at me," No. I hadn't noticed," he retorted facetiously. While he may be a smart man, he's also a smart-mouth. All Tucker is is sarcasm. Not that much different from myself, I suppose.

"Oh, you shut up." I walk back into my room and grab my axe putting myself into my long overcoat in the process. It covered the entire axe like a charm. Which, most of the people in Amity knew what I did. They knew I carried all kinds of sliver around for when I needed it. They also knew what I needed it for. They didn't want to realize it, though. Vampires are no secret.

I splash some water on my face from the basin in my room. I lean on the table it sits on and look into the pool. Water plinks as it drips down from my hair. My reflection looks back at me.

I have a small face and big eyes, giving me a childish look. My skin is and always has been a deathly pale, and my eyes a bright china blue. My hair greatly contrasts my eyes, but Foley says it suits me. My eternally unruly hair is pitch black. Black as the night. A little metaphor for you. Or is that a simile?

I never need to lift anything to stay in shape. What I do, it keeps me well-toned. I have a set of abs that look like they are painted on me. My arms aren't huge, but they did have a bit of muscle to them, and I could lift more than it looked like I could.

"DANIEL! C'MERE!" Foley's voice resonates through my house. He sounds frustrated. Sighing, I walk back through my house and into the den/kitchen, but Foley was nowhere to be seen. I looked through the house, peeking my head around corners and looking around doors, but I couldn't seem to find Foley.

"Foley! Where are you?!" I yelled, resorting to yelling. I didn't like yelling, but sometimes it had to be done. And no, I wasn't some tree-hugger, peace-loving nitwit who can't stand to see blood. I could hold my own in a fight. And that little revelation came from me refusing to yell.

"In here! Come on! HURRY!" Foley started to sound a bit frantic that last bit, so I ran to where I assumed his voice was coming from. It sounded a bot echoey, so it could either be my basement or...well, pretty much just my basement. I jogged through the house, making sure I didn't hit anything on the way. I was kind of OCD and if anything got out of place, I would probably flip out.

In a few seconds, I was bounding down the stairs that led to my basement, my boots making a boom that sounded peculiarly like thunder.

"Tucker?" I glanced around for my friend.

"Here!" I saw a bit of movement, and then Tucker's hand waving to me. I got to the spot in a split second, and saw Tucker's dilemma. He was stuck under some huge metal container, and I knew that it was probably not the lightest thing in the world. Tuck was pinned underneath it, and he was trying to hold it up so that it would not crush his face. It was stuck on his pelvis area, and I was actually surprised that it had not destroyed his pelvis to little fragments.

"Tucker!" I yelped and grabbed the edge of the metal canister. I grunted and with one shove, it was off of him. I pulled Tucker to his feet, and he gasped, getting over the shock of almost dying.

"How did...you...move that thing?" He breathed between gasps. I was breathing hard myself and waited a moment to answer.

"I don't quite know. Adrenaline?" I figured. I really had no idea how I'd moved the canister, but to be honest, it scared me to death.

"Suuurrreee." Foley, grins, overcoming his earlier emotions just the same as he always does. Foley was one scatterminded person, but he was also my best friend, and I would do or tell him anything. I would just hope he thinks the same of me.

"So what are you doing anyway?" I asked the man, and he smirked at me. He was planning something, and I knew I would enjoy it just as much as he did. Just by the look in his eyes, I knew it.

"Oh, nothing," he responds, shrugging his shoulders. I backhand his shoulder, and he yelps, making me grin.

"I was just pinned underneath a metal canister, and you _hit_ me?!" Tucker wails.

I shrug my shoulders, crossing my arms, "Yeah, pretty much. So what're you up to, destroying my home?" Tucker glares at me. He's always had a nack for technology. It's his life, and he devotes it to inventing new things. But after the Civil War, black men and women weren't treated very well, and they didn't get as many opportunities as the white man. Tucker's never been able to get a patent just because of the color of his skin. That's always angered me beyond relief.

"Inventing." he replies mistily. He's gone back to work and there's no way to get him out now. He wouldn't even come out of his little focus area if I held a strip of fresh-cooked bacon in his face. And that's saying quite a lot for Tucker, who's a proud meat connoisseur.

"Vague enough for you Tucker?" I yell through the house, walking back to the front door. I check my self. Axe, check. Hat, check. It was a little lopsided, but check. Coat, check, dusty, though. Everything seemed in fine order, and I had just saved my best friend. Today was turning out to be a good day.

* * *

"Woah, Nelly!" I yelled to my horse. She was always a fiesty one as a young'n, and she was just as much so as an mare. She skidded to halt in front of the general store, which doubled as a bar and the postal office. I hopped off her back, and patted her silver sides.

"Now you don't cause any trouble alright?" I told her, and she seemed to nod her head, neighing softly, "Good girl, Nelly."

I walked into the open door of the general store, and the barman greeted me.  
"Mr. Fenton! How's life?"

"Oh, it's alright, Mr. Lancer. Umm, would there happen to be any mail for me?"

"Well, I don't quite know, but I sure can check! I'll be right back for you, okay?"

I nodded my head. Lancer was quite the character. A tall, pot-bellied man, but he was one of the nicest people I know. He taught me a lot of stuff in my life, and I am eternally grateful.

As I was sitting there, leaning on the bar, whistling the tune to some old song I used to know, a woman walked in. Quite a pretty woman. Too pretty actually. When she let down her hood, long black curls popped out. They glistened in the light and they were tied back with violet ribbons to match her eyes, which were an unearthly purple. Her skin was white as the summer moon, and her teeth were the same when she smiled.

"Oh, hello! You're not the bartender are you? You look mighty young to be handing out alcohol!" she exclaimed at the sight of me. My eyebrows automatically raised. I already did not like her, but I was drawn to her for some reason. I decided to be polite anyway.

"Well, ma'am. I'm nineteen, but you look about the same age as me! What's that all about?" I asked her, and she gave a look like blushing, except no color came to her cheeks. When I went to kiss her hand, she shied away from me, and I stared at her.

"Umm, well I-I have to go. I'm sorry I bothered you." and with that she was gone. I stood staring out the window at her, lost in thought when...  
"Mr. Fenton! I found a letter for you! From a certain...Miss M.?" I whipped around, walking towards the bar.

"Uhh, yeah, that's mine, thanks!" I had been getting letters from this "Miss M." character ever since I can remember. She was always talking to me, but she told me not to answer her letters, just to let her respond to me. I always wondered who she was and what she was up to. How did she know where and how I was? Did she follow me around? I had no idea, but I liked hearing what she had to say.

I sat on a bench outside the bar and ripped the letter open, zoning everything else out. I got like this when I read things. I guess I'm kind of like Tucker in that way.

I read the letter:

_Danny! I was glad to see that you and Tucker are doing well! I am too, just so you might know. I always am, and I hope you always are too. _

_I saw you in the general store yesterday, and I wondered why you got so much peroxide, but now I know why. You got hurt didn't you? Well, it seems you're alright, but I was still worried._

_Things where I live are going well. People get along, but I know that they miss you, Danny. I miss you. I know your father would be proud of what you've done. He would be immensely appreciative. He was a nice man, you know that? Yes, yes I knew your father, and it was quite a blessing. He was so kind and compassionate. Just like you. You know you two could've been twins. You look just alike. _

_Well, I don't have much time on my hands, but I can say this, Danny. You and I will meet soon. Sooner than you would expect. _

_With Love,_

_Miss M. _

And with that, the only correspondent I've ever cared about left me alone for another two weeks. She was always so honest. She told me about where she lived, but she never told me _where _she lived. I wish I knew. I would visit her every day. It's almost like I'm in love without knowing who the woman is. She might not even be a woman for all I know. And if she's a woman, she might me decades older than me. No, no, I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts about her. She wouldn't think them about me, so why would I do that to her?

She's the only one who ever calls me Danny. I'm normally called Daniel, as that is my name, but I assume she came up with the nickname to shorten it? I call her M. Is that a nickname? Yes, it is. It shortens her real name. Well, I don't even know her real name. I know she's unmarried though, so it would make sense for her to be my age. Older women are usually married and aging.

She seems like a busy woman, because she usually ends her letters with something like, "Well, I'm a bit busy, but I can get back to you later."

I still felt she and I had something in common, like we were meant for each other. And I don't mean love or anything, just that she was meant to be the one writing me these letters, and I was meant to be the one to receive them. As if this was no coincidence.

She fills my loneliness more than Tucker does and I see Tucker most every day. She is the one that I would do anything for, go anywhere, get anything. I don't even know her, and I still feel like I do. I've never even talked to the woman and she still feels closer to me than most of the people I know personally. That's kind of pathetic.

I've been lonely my entire life, for as long as I can remember. My parents were killed by vampires, and I only have on best friend. But Miss M...she fills an empty void in my heart that is only for her fill. She makes me feel...worthwhile.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So yeah. I feel like this chapter sucked majorly. I don't know why. I think I rambled too much at the end. **

**Well, tell me what you think, and do it quick because I have no idea how fast the next chapter will be up! **

**-O'Brien**


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